Feathering of a Thrush Nest
by JantoJones
Summary: Napoleon and Illya must locate the daughter of a murdered mine owner.


The picture on the screen in Mr Waverly's office drew an appreciative smile from Napoleon, as he and his partner entered. The woman in the image had cascading blonde hair, warm eyes, and full, voluptuous lips. Both Waverly and Illya noted the reaction from the CEA but said nothing. The response Napoleon had to a beautiful woman was as unconscious a thought as blinking.

"Take a seat, gentlemen," the Old Man invited.

He waited until the pair were settled before turning the large conference table and delivering their pre-mission briefing files to them. Illya immediately put his reading glasses on and started to take in the details of the woman on the screen.

"This is Philomena Denning," Waverly told them. "She is the daughter of Jonathan Denning, owner of Denning mining. Her father was murdered yesterday and she herself has gone missing. It is believed she has been kidnapped."

"I am not sure I understand," Illya stated. "It says here that she has no other family, therefore her father would be the one to whom any ransom demand would be sent. With his death, that option is gone."

"You are quite correct, Mr Kuryakin, but if you read on you will see why the police believe Miss Denning's abduction is not about any possible ransom and why they've handed this case over to us."

By this time Napoleon had also opened his file and was reading the preliminary police investigation. A name he knew sprang out at him.

"Barty Phelps," he said out loud.

Bartholomew Phelps was a high ranking Thrush official whose main field of operation was the acquisition of businesses which could prove useful. From the police report, Napoleon could see that Phelps had approached Denning with regard to buying his mining operation.

"Evidence suggests that Mr Denning was approached on three separate occasions," Waverly explained "And each time he knocked them back."

"What sort of mining operation is it?" Solo asked.

"Silver," his boss told him. "So you can see why Thrush would be interested. Everything we know is in those files, and I'm sure I can leave the rest up to you. Your assignment is to recover Miss Denning."

"I take it we are working on the supposition that Miss Denning's abduction is simply to 'persuade' her to sell the mine," said Illya. "Assuming she is her father's heir."

"I believe it is safe to make that assumption, Mr Kuryakin."

Mr Waverly dismissed his agents to go about their assignment. With the vast resources of the U.N.C.L.E. machine behind them, it took less than two hours to find Phelps' most likely location. He had been traced to a small rural mansion, which had its own private airfield. It was also only a three-hour drive from U.N.C.L.E. HQ.

It was beginning to rain when the agents arrived at the airfield, but the weather wasn't a concern for them. Crouching amongst the bushes which edged the outside of the perimeter fence, neither Napoleon nor Illya could see a way to get to the house without being seen. Although the building was situated to one side of the area, there was no cover to conceal them. Their problem was solved for them when a voice spoke behind them.

"What do we have here then?" it asked. "A pair of snakes in the grass?"

The agents stood up and, placing their hands on their heads, slowly turned around. A burly guard, wearing a blue Thrush jumpsuit, grinned as his prisoners surrendered. He couldn't decide which of the two to train his rifle on so settled for alternating between the two. Solo and Kuryakin gave each other a look which, to most people would be unreadable, but which they understood perfectly. Without any further consultation both men dived at the guard while the gun was midway between them.

It almost worked but, unfortunately, the guard wasn't alone.

Illya had his fist raised ready to send the first guard into oblivion but, the arrival of the second guard changed his plan. Within minutes, both he and Napoleon had their hands tied behind their backs, and they were being led into the house.

"On the plus side," Napoleon whispered. "It solves out problem of how to get in."

Once inside, they soon learned that their pre-mission notes had failed to inform them of one salient point. Sitting in a comfortable armchair, and accepting a cocktail from Barty Phelps, Philomena Denning was quite clearly not being held against her will.

"We appear to have visitors, Barty," she murmured, as she sipped her drink. "I wonder who they are."

"Let's find out, my dear," Phelps replied, nodding at on the guards.

The fished through the agents' jackets and pulled out their IDs. He handed them straight over to his boss, along with their weapons. They then turned to face the prisoners, making sure their rifles were trained on them. With no-one behind them, Napoleon and Illya immediately got to work on the ropes binding their hands. It wasn't the first time the hidden blade in the watches had come in useful. Phelps read the cards and smiled broadly.

"We are in esteemed company, Philly," he told the woman. "Please say hello to Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin of the U.N.C.L.E."

Napoleon frowned at Phelps' use of the name 'Philly'. It suggested that he and Miss Denning were definitely not abductor and hostage. Far from it, in fact.

"What is U.N.C.L.E.'s business here," Phelps asked sharply. His tone changing from congenial to cold.

"We are here to rescue, Miss. . . ," Napoleon replied, the sentence trailing off as he said it.

Miss Denning laughed. At any other time, the sound would have stirred a primal urge in Napoleon. Right now, it sent a chill through him.

"We assumed you had been kidnapped by your father's murderer," Illya added.

The woman stood up and stalked over to the Russian. She stroked his cheek almost lovingly, then leaned close to his ear.

"I am my father's murderer," she said, loudly enough for Napoleon to also hear.

She stepped away from them and sat back down.

"It was necessary I'm afraid. He refused to join me in Thrush, and I needed his money."

Miss Denning explained that she had been left no option but to forge papers which signed her father's assets over to her. When he had discovered her deception his fate was already sealed.

"You killed your own father just for his money?" asked Illya, with absolute contempt.

He would give almost anything to have his own father back, and couldn't understand why someone would murder theirs purely for financial gain.

"But of course," Philomena replied, sweetly.

"What do you think we should do with them?" Phelps cut in. "I don't have the facilities here to prise their secrets from them."

"We'll hand them over to Central as a gift," she answered, before addressing the guards. "Put them somewhere secure."

In a move which could almost have been choreographed, Napoleon and Illya waited until the guards got close to them before dropping the rope and grabbing the rifles. They deftly stepped sideways as they did it in case one of the goons decided to pull a trigger.

While guards and U.N.C.L.E. agents struggled for the upper hand, Phelps and Miss Denning decided it was probably time to leave. Illya noticed them go and redoubled his efforts. It took a while, but he soon gained control of the rifle and smashed into the side of the guard's head. The man dropped like a stone, but Illya had no time to worry if he was merely unconscious or actually dead.

He also had to trust that Napoleon could hold his own while he dashed off after the departing birds, who were heading for the helicopter. Illya reached it just as it was taking off and, without any clear plan as to what he was going to do, he threw down the rifle and jumped onto the landing skid. This caused the helicopter to tilt alarmingly. While Phelps tried to regain the equilibrium, Philomena kicked out at Illya. It took three attempts, but she finally managed to dislodge him. With a cry of surprise, he began to fall.

Napoleon took a little longer than Illya to subdue his guard, but eventually gained a victory. He hadn't seen where everyone else had gone but the open French windows gave him the clue he needed. He emerged from the house just in time to see his partner falling to the ground. The height was survivable, but it would all depend on how he landed.

The scream which tore from the throat of Illya was born of pain and anger as he slammed, shoulder first, into the tarmac. Despite knowing his shoulder was dislocated, and possibly broken, he tried to reach out for the rifle he had dropped, but found the pain too much. All he could do was lay back and watch the Thrushes fly away.

"Mr Waverly is not going to be happy about this," Napoleon stated, as he reached Illya. "Are you still alive?"

Illya asserted that he was fine and demanded that Napoleon assist him up. Solo helped him to his feet, being careful not to jar the damaged shoulder.

"Do you want me to put that right?" he asked, not really relishing the thought of it.

Illya shook his head. Had they been somewhere remote, he would have accepted Napoleon's offer. However, he couldn't be sure how much damage there was, so opted to wait for a medic.

"You'd better call in a clean-up crew," he said, wincing against the pain. "Waverly will want them to go through this place with a fine-toothed comb."

The Old Man was indeed unhappy with the outcome, but laid no blame on his agents. Had they realised sooner that Philomena Denning was a Thrush they could have approached things differently.

"Given that Mr Kuryakin requires medical attention, I am authorising a helicopter to fly agents to your location, which you can use to return in. More agents will be dispatched by road."

Napoleon and Illya could hear the frustration in their chief's voice and could fully empathise.

"On your return Mr Kuryakin will go straight to medical while you, Mr Solo, will get on to your report immediately," Waverly instructed. "It seems we need to update our records of known Thrush affiliates."


End file.
